The Dawn of Healing
I wake slow before the sun
& must kiss my throb and ache.
Born to embrace this sacred body-decay,
become bed-rot that sprouts anew,
each morning a fresh budding fungus
that breaks through piled fabric.
I am a wildflower melt that lingers
in the blanket-hills that fill the landscape
of my bed/home. Make me liquid
& I will dance the rhythm
of the dazzling smoke I breathe,
my green morning medicine.
Listen to joy
with a slow belly smile.